You are on page 1of 15

Journal of Constructivist Psychology, 15:205-218, 2002

Copyright 2002 Brunner-Routledge


1072-0537/02 $12.00 + .00
DOI: 10.1080/1072053029010044 2

BROKEN NARRATIVES: TRAUMA, METACONSTRUCTIVE


GAPS, AND THE AUDIENCE OF PSYCHOTHERAPY

KENNETH W. SEWELL
AMY M. WILLIAMS
University of North Texas, Denton, Texas, USA

A constructivist model of posttraumatic psychotherapy is presented with particular


attention to the metaphors of narrative and audience. Metaconstruction, im-
plicit construing, and narrative continuity are explored to conceptualize how per-
sons story their experiences, and how some experiences (e.g., traumas) disrupt the
storying process. Then the elements of posttraumatic psychotherapy are discussed
with case examples illustrating how the therapist, as audience member and co-
narrator, facilitates the reconstruction and renarration of the clients life story.

As constructivist psychologists, we are attracted to the double entendre


of the term construct. Certainly, the heritage of personal construct
theory (PCT; Kelly, 1955/1991) yields an inflection of the term mean-
ing dimension of anticipation or category of distinction. Although
imbued with much more intrapsychic significance, this PCT usage is
similar in form to the use of construct (CON-struct) in measurement
theory as denoting a distinctive conceptual unit. However, as construc-
tivist psychologists interested in trauma reactions and trauma psycho-
therapy, the verb form of construct (con-STRUCT) yields crucial proactive
connotations. The construer is not simply fitting his or her experience
into a static system of CONstructs, although this can be a useful meta-
phor at times. Rather, a more powerful metaphor (at least where psy-
chotherapy is concerned) has the construer conSTRUCTing meaning
(indeed, experience itself) from the various experiments and happen-
ings around and within him or her. This latter process conception of
constructivist psychology lends itself to yet another powerful meta-
phor: narrative. The narrative metaphor gives us access to an array
of conceptual tools that have been used to create and analyze narra-
Received 8 September 2001; accepted 7 January 2002.
Address correspondence to Dr. Kenneth W. Sewell, Dir. of Clinical Training,
Department of Psychology, University of North Texas, P.O. Box 311280, Denton, TX
76203-1280, USA. E-mail: sewellk@unt.edu

205
206 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

tives in many nonpsychology fields, such as composition, literary criti-


cism, linguistics, folklore studies, philosophy, physiology, and even
computer science.
The utility of the narrative metaphor in psychology has only re-
cently begun to attract active attention (Mair, 1988, 1989, 1990; Sarbin,
1986; White & Epston, 1990). This article explores the conception of
trauma as broken narratives. We begin with a discussion of some impor-
tant psychological processes seen as requisite to adaptive psychologi-
cal narration (metaconstruction, continuity, and implicit construing),
and therefore ultimately important for therapy (renarration). Within
this discussion, trauma (and posttraumatic reactions) are conceptual-
ized as breaches in the narrative process and product. Then the concept
of audience is explored in relation to the narrator. Finally, the ele-
ments of constructivist posttraumatic psychotherapy are reviewed with
an emphasis on renarration processes and audience elaboration.

METACONSTRUCTION

Metaconstruction refers to the construal of a construction. Sewell (1997)


outlined five types of metaconstruction. One kind of metaconstruction
has been called sociality. Sociality (Kelly, 1955 /1991, p. 95, page number-
ing in original) occurs when an individual construes another per-
sons current construction processes. When a part of the valued others
processes are construed to include sociality reflected (i.e, the other is
construing the construction processes of the self), attachment ensues.
Introspection (also called present metaconstruction) occurs when an
individual construes his or her current construction processes. Reflection
(or past metaconstruction) takes place when an individual construes his
or her own present metaconstruction in relation to his or her construc-
tion processes at various points in the past, including attachment con-
structions. Remembering (memorial metaconstruction) is a special case of
past metaconstruction in which a person reconstructs his or her own
construction processes at some single point in the past. Finally, future
projection (future metaconstruction) involves construing ones future
construction processes on the basis of present and past metaconstructions.
We propose that a persons sense of self emerges from repeatedly
experimenting with sociality and the four other types of metacon-
struction, including the tentative building of a future self, or many
potential future selves. Thus, metaconstruction is the process that links
the psychological person to the social world as well as to the world of
events. This ability continually and iteratively to construe construc-
tions (and reconstructions) of self and others allows the person to tran-
Broken Narratives 207

scend primitive moment-to-moment construction/anticipation and be-


gin to compose (construct) stories about the self and the world. In
other words, metaconstruction yields narration by linking remembrances
through first-order construing toward future metaconstruction. This
narration occurs in the context of sociality-based attachments and with
introspection and reflection (on-going as well remembered); thus, a
stable sense of self can emerge that is experienced as having agency
(both in the story as well as in the storying process).

IMPLICIT CONSTRUCTION:
SUBTEXT AS NARRATIVE ANCHOR

A playwright and novelist was being interviewed for a radio show.


He was asked to describe the difference between the two forms. His
response was that to write a play was, for him, somewhat easier than
writing a novel. He supported the contention by noting that, in a novel,
he had not only to supply the action and dialogue, but also to develop
the characters, communicate their motivation, explicate the innuendo
of every interaction, spell out the relationships, and track the chronol-
ogy of the events.
In a play, the author must supply only the events and dialogue; the
actors must do the rest. Stated differently, a storys subtext (all those
unspoken or nonobvious associations related to the overt) is essential to
the story itself. Shurtleff (1978) advises actors to discover and communi-
cate the opposites implied in a script; to communicate only the con-
tent and feelings that are explicitly written in the script leaves the
character flat and lacking dimension. Sewell (1998), also addressing
theatrical acting, extends this conception to suggest that in order for an
actor to communicate extremity in any emotional direction (joy, for
example), the actor must find a way to anchor the opposite pole (de-
pression, perhaps) with equal extremity. Thus, a characters joyful ex-
pressions are made profound, not by the sheer volume of his exclama-
tions or the up-turned facial expressions, but rather more so by having
communicated the depth of his depression as an alternative.
Post hoc personal narratives may take the form of a novelwith
all the demands (and luxury) of supplying the subtext along with the
action. Personal narratives in real timethose that are being created
as they are being livedare much more like a play. The implicit is of
great importance, but only occasionally becomes explicit.
Construing implies making distinctions. Any single construction
must be anchored by what the experience is not. Stated differently,
one pole of a dichotomy (or dimension) used to construct meaning
208 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

relies on the implicit psychological presence of the other pole to give


meaning to the entire construction. When a child experiences a friend
as good, he mustat some levelconsider badness (or some other
personal opposite) in order to anchor the construction. Of course, he is
likely not aware of this anchoring at a cognitive level, thus the term
implicit construing. Implicit construing is our tool for anticipating
invalidation. Explicit construction guides and shapes how we will an-
ticipate and understand experience when that construction is at least
nominally validated. However, the only viable way to attempt an under-
standing of total invalidation would be to bring forth the opposite
poles of our dimensions of anticipation. Once the implicit construction
comes to the fore, the explicit poles that had provided the original
anticipation become, to some extent, implicit. This is exactly the inver-
sion provoked by traumatic experience.
Consider a middle-aged woman who was physically assaulted by
a male acquaintance during what she considered to be a trivial argu-
ment at a church-related function. Prior to the assault, she functioned
with the anticipations that church was safe, that assertiveness was valuable,
and that the superior physical strength of some men was a positive
attribute. Though she surely had the concepts of danger, acquiescence,
or physical aggression, they had previously been implicit, at least in
most circumstances. Now, she has been unexpectedly thrust into an-
ticipating a large part of the world from these previously tacit, unelab-
orated, and less valued poles.
Thus, the extent to which a person can incorporate a potentially
traumatic experience without symptoms or systemic change depends
mainly on the flexibility and validity (i.e., level of validation) of the
persons explicit constructions. Once the explicit construction is shat-
tered by invalidationin other words, once the person is traumatized
the extent to which the person can quickly adapt (versus develop symp-
toms of PTSD) depends on the flexibility and complexity of the implicit
constructions. In the case of the assaulted woman, elaborate implicit
constructions including poor impulse control as being associated with
weakness, and the eventual sociolegal punishment of aggression may
buffer any ensuing posttraumatic stress reaction. The richness of the
subtext keeps the story going, even in the face of apparent invalidation.

DISCONTINUOUS NARRATIVES
AND TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE

Sewell (1997) utilized a double-mirror metaphor to relate this concep-


tion of selfhood to the understanding of trauma. Imagine sitting in a
Broken Narratives 209

barbers chair with a large mirror in front you and another large mirror
behind. Looking into the mirror, you see yourself, the room, the barber,
and what seems like an infinite number of other images that all bear
distinct resemblances to the objects and persons in the room. Sewell
(1997) describes how we might playfully explore such an environment:

As if to test the physics of the room, we find ourselves compelled to


move an arm, or make a face, in order to see if all the images re-
spond appropriately. As my seventy-third front images smile looks
amazingly like the first and fifty-first, I feel firmly located (now) in
the chair, assured that my back (past) is behind me, and my front
(future) is before me. See if you feel the same. (p. 223)

But how would you react if your inspection of the mirror revealed
an image in one of the back views that was different from anything
before it, and different from your experience of the room? That image
is a traumatic memorial metaconstruction (the experience of living with
an unresolved traumatic remembrance). The self in the chair seems
different from (discontinuous with) some image in the back mirror
(the past). Thus, predicting what will appear on the front mirror from
iteration to iteration (i.e., the future) seems mind-boggling.

Seeing such a discrepancy in my mirror, I am mobilized to figure


out what is going on in this strange room. Rather than allowing my
vision to flow comfortably from past to present to future, I find
myself spinning around in the chair, looking at my own body, look-
ing at the barber (perhaps even accusing him of tricking me), and
wondering if I even want to stay in this chair at all. My sense of
understanding my existence in the chair has been threatened. (Sewell,
1997, p. 223)

With such discontinuity, a persons ability to story his or her expe-


rience in a coherent way is compromised. Any narrative involving the
self is disrupted by an inability to connect the self that is with the self
that was. Furthermore, the lack of continuity between metaconstrued
present and past impairs the ability to make a coherent future metacon-
struction. The traumatized person cannot tell a believable (to herself)
story of who he or she will become.

AUDIENCE: DIRECTIONALITY, INTENTIONALITY,


AND SOCIALITY IN THE NARRATIVE PROCESS

Narratives, in the sense discussed here, are populated by characters.


In order for characters to make sense in a narrative, they necessarily
210 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

play particular roles. They are protagonists, antagonists, supporting


actors, offspring, progenitors, bullies, crazy aunts, chorus members,
mentors, extras, and so on. Certainly the self is an important charac-
ter in a persons larger narratives (e.g., her grand narrative, or the
story of her life). As with other characters, the self plays particular
roles in the story and in relation to the story.
Before exploring the nature of self-roles and how they are im-
pacted by trauma, the concept of role merits some attention. Kelly
(1955/1991, p. 97) defined a personal role as the persons anticipations
of the expectations of important others (other people in the individuals
story who must interact with the enroled character). Thus, a role is (by
definition) social. Roles place characters in interactional stances.
One of the self-roles that becomes relevant to psychology (cer-
tainly to psychotherapy) is the self-as-narrator role. Each person sees
himself, at least to some extent, as the purveyor of his life story. Be-
cause it is a role, it is inherently social. Who are the important others?
To a story-teller, the important othersthose whose perceived expec-
tations define the story-teller roleare the members of the audience.
Personal narratives (like all narratives) have interpersonal purposes
(Wortham, 1999). What aspect of the personal story is told, how the
story is told, and the implicit characteristics of the telling, altogether
reveal how the narrator is attempting to position himself in relation to
the audience. As any good stage actor will know, the audience is an
important character in every play.
Even when the narrator perceives himself or herself to be alone,
and to be talking only to himself or herself in relating his or her
narrative, it is never without sociality. Storying is inextricably linked
to languaging; and languaging is acquired primarily via social means.
So, even the hermit must invoke the image and voice of his long-
invisible mother to remember and enact the task of tying his shoes,
or the unspoken strength of his long-rejected father to chop the wood
for his hermitage fire, or the touch of his long-untouched lover as he
washes his hands.
Trauma, and the gaping cleavages in the narrative flow left in its
wake, invariably disrupt the narrators self-role in relation to one or
more important audiences. Indeed, some traumas (those involving so-
cial or mortal loss) alter the very composition of the audience. These
disruptions demand a restorying of experienceone that involves a
repositioning of the self-as-narrator in relation to an important (and
perhaps reconstituted) audience.
Finally, most audiences are not passive entities. Performers can
attest that the essence of a live performance is that the audience be-
comes a part of what is expressed. G. H. Mead (1934) went as far as to
Broken Narratives 211

say that the meaning of a particular act of communication resides in


the actions of the receiver. So, to the extent that the sender is to make
her or his own experience and intentions meaningful, it must be by
including the audience in the very act of communication. When the
audience is unwilling, incapable, or absent (by virtue of the isolation
of the narrator, or by actions of the audience itself) for a conarration
role, then the narrator is impaired in making experience meaningful.
When the audience is willing, capable, and present for such conarration
involvement, the relationship elaborates the individuals narrative. For
a variety of idiosyncratic reasons, traumatized persons sometimes lack
such an audience/conarrator in their usual social arenas; it is for these
persons that a psychotherapist can be a useful resource.

PSYCHOTHERAPY FOR POSTTRAUMATIC STRESS

To the extent that a person has been traumatized and has experienced
the ensuing metaconstructive/narrative gap, a certain kind of work
is required to renarrate her life in an adaptive, forward-moving way.
We have proposed (Sewell & Williams, 2001; Sewell, 1997) a model of
psychotherapy that we believe can facilitate this work. However,
we do not suggest that all traumatized individuals will need psycho-
therapy in order to renarrate their life stories effectively. Some per-
sons are prompted (by a school assignment, a newspaper cartoon, a
research project, a telephone call, etc.) to engage in an elaborative trauma-
reliving process (described below) without the aid of a therapist. Cer-
tainly, some such persons could then proceed with the remaining
growth-oriented tasks unprompted by therapy or other outside struc-
tures. Nonetheless, many persons seek psychotherapy to approach this
challenge. Therefore, the model is described here to illustrate how a
therapist might achieve audience status, as well as conarrator status,
with a traumatized person and thereby prompt growth.
Psychotherapy is a designated interpersonal space in which a persons
life story can be told/created and retold/recreated without the con-
striction of narrating it as it happened (i.e., in real time). It is a bit like
writing a novel (or perhaps several alternative novels) based on a very
moving play in which the novelist played a starring role. Thus, the
overarching tasks are to make the implicit explicit, to reinvent and
redevelop characters, to reorganize social ties, and to try on as many
different selves as it takes to yield a future in which the author/narrator
can invest. The investment is life itself.
The elements of psychotherapy discussed below are not sequential
in a strict sense. However, the order used herein does represent the
212 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

likely progression of focus throughout psychotherapy. A fluid devel-


opmental metaphor more accurately applies to the ordering than does
a linear stage conception.

Symptom Management

Symptom management involves identifying and alleviating the clients


most acutely distressing symptoms. Often, a variety of cognitive-
behavioral techniques are employed, such as relaxation, thought stop-
ping, self-talk modification/disputation, and even assertiveness skills
training. Referrals for psychopharmacological adjuncts might be sug-
gested to the extent that acute depression is impeding the formation of
a trusting therapeutic relationship.
Some approaches to PTSD treatment consider symptom manage-
ment to be the totality of therapy (e.g., Meichenbaum, 1994). Instead,
we are convinced that symptom management is a necessary but not
sufficient building block of successful therapy with a traumatized per-
son. Certainly, technical interventions can provide short-term symp-
tomatic relief to the client. But more importantly, the therapists active
engagement in symptom management promotes sociality and positive
therapeutic attachment. One hopes that the therapists active willing-
ness to help will be interpreted by the client as indicating that the
therapist is competent, trustworthy, and a source of healing. In other
words, this process creates a social role in relation to the client, such
that the therapist can be an important character in the clients recon-
structed narrative. Also, the clients exploration of his own symptoms
promotes important self-related metaconstructionintrospection. By
examining what it is like in the barbers chair, the therapist not only
gains the phenomenological viewpoint to play an important social role,
but the client also gains experience at construing his own construc-
tions. Together, these benefits of symptom management lay the ground-
work for the therapist to be both a valued collaborator in the renarration
process, as well as a particularly significant audience member for the
clients life story.
Gary had clear memories of sexual abuse as a child but could
express only vague complaints upon entering therapy. Though he knew
he felt miserable and was uncomfortably overweight, he struggled
to identify specific aspects of his experience that were troublesome.
Early in therapy, Gary started to realize that he would overeat to pro-
tect himself from painful introspection. He and the therapist began
assertively distinguishing his emotions from the sensations of physical
hunger and satiation. He began trying out labels for his feelings and
Broken Narratives 213

symptoms; in so doing, he became increasingly able to metaconstrue


his current situation. This initial breakthrough was accompanied by
a surge in Garys subjective distress as he more fully explored his
emotional reactions. Several symptom management techniques such
as scripted self-talk, feeling journals, and relaxation training were
successfully employed to assist Gary with flashbacks, lack of sleep,
and anger outbursts. More importantly, however, Garys successes in
collaborating with the therapist to address his pain taught him the
process of overt introspection. With this new skill and an important
new social role relationship, Gary began his journey of re-narration
with an entrusted therapist.

Life Review

Although the traumatic event is usually referenced during the initial


session or two, the therapeutic, narrator-audience relationship is not
yet equipped to make an event-focus particularly therapeutic. First,
therapeutic energy should shift toward a life review. This review can
be initiated as soon as the symptoms are managed well enough to
allow the clients attention to turn from present description to reflec-
tion and remembering. Life review involves sharing ones past metacon-
struction with the therapistexploring together the rear view mirror
so that the therapist and client share the story of the life upon which
the traumatic experience apparently intruded.
Life review involves narrating, in one medium or another, the clients
experience of childhood, adolescence, and other periods and signifi-
cant experiences preceding the trauma. Via this process, the therapist
becomes acquainted with the clients world and personality at various
developmental stages, yielding an intimacy as if the therapist had
really been there. This intimacy is crucial to giving the therapist status
as conarrator and valued audience. Life review also provokes the nov-
elization process discussed above: challenging the client to renarrate
his or her own psychological history, making explicit as much of the
implicit construction as possible.
It is typical for life review to involve verbal narration. However,
other media can be equally useful, as long as the aspects of sharing
and negotiation with the therapist are maintained. Stewart (1995) de-
scribed autobiographical writing assignments to facilitate life review.
By remembering and writing a descriptive story of actions, experi-
ences, stressors, motives, values, and circumstances, the client and ther-
apist work together to understand and come to know the client prior to
traumatization. As Neimeyer (1995) stated, autobiographical narratives
214 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

of this type yearn for coherence (p. 233). Thus, the active process of
remembering involves renarrating in the now the events of the past
writing one of the possible novels based on the emotionally-charged
play.
Michelle was consumed with self-blame for getting in the car with
the stranger who later assaulted her. When asked to describe her life
before the assault, she reflected on the abandonment by her parents
and her street-wise nature at a young age. Although she had become
tough as a way to survive her predicament, Michelle also remem-
bered times of great vulnerability, particularly when someone showed
signs of caring for her. Reconciling what for Michelle were experi-
enced as opposite self-constructions (street-smart and tough versus vul-
nerable and needy) would prove to be a substantial task requisite to
readjusting after the trauma. Furthermore, she would need to redefine
the notion of vulnerability, creating a story that would acknowledge
both the positive (vulnerability as leading to valued human connec-
tion) and negative (vulnerability as leading to betrayal and pain) as-
pects of the construct. Michelles life review clearly served dual func-
tions. First, the life review helped to identify the elements of her past
and the dimensions of her evaluation in need of renarration. This would
certainly be grist for the mill during subsequent phases of therapy.
Secondly, the process instantiated the content; in other words, Michelle
had to risk vulnerability in order to bring the therapist in as audience
to her story.

Trauma Reliving

Trauma reliving is the conarration of trauma-related memorial meta-


construction, looking intently at and detailing a description of the
discrepant image in the mirror. This kind of trauma reliving is differ-
ent from reexperiencing symptoms (e.g., flashbacks), and from describing
the event in a cursory way (as clients often do in the initial interview).
Flashbacks are experienced as outside the persons control; reliving is
an intentional, effortful narrative process. Narrating or talking about
the event is typical of war stories and other cursory trauma descrip-
tions. Reliving, on the other hand, involves speaking from within the
experience, giving voice to the traumatic story with all its associated
pain, confusion, fear, and shame. It should be stressed that, from a
constructivist perspective, the prefix re- is never constrained to simple
repetition; instead it is open to reformation/transformation. Thus, re-
living does not mean living it then, the exact same way; rather reliv-
ing requires that the client live it now, with my new resources, my
Broken Narratives 215

new conarrator, my new audience, toward a new resultant self. It is


in this focus of therapy that the therapist begins to leverage the valued
conarrator and audience status nurtured via symptom management
and life review.
Every time Tom would begin to approach the details of his trau-
matic Vietnam combat memories, he would find a reason not to delve
deeply into them. During one session in which he was talking about
the memories (rather than sharing them in narration), the fire alarm
inadvertently activated. Tom took this as a mystical confirmation that
his memories were just too much for anyone to handle. He tried
simultaneously to glean what he could from therapy, and to protect
the therapist from the pain of his experience. In spite of his paternalis-
tic desire to protect the therapist, Tom would grow frustrated at not
being more fully understood by this important person in his life, the
therapist. Tom was repeatedly encouraged to take the therapist through
the story: Youll be safe this time; Ill be there with you. Tom and
his therapist went behind enemy lines, to places where Pentagon offi-
cials long denied that soldiers were ever sent. Tom and his therapist
hid in the glades when a detail of Viet Cong came down the river in a
small gun-boat. Tom and his therapist stayed hidden as the enemy
disembarked and searched among the tall grass, eventually finding
several of Toms comrades. Tom and his therapiststill hidden
listened to the screaming of the American soldiers until their screams
were punctuated by gunfire. After the gun-boat drifted away, Tom
and his therapist arose to find that his partners had been tied to trees
and skinned alive before being shot.
Now Tom and his therapist could speak the same language. Renar-
ration, though by no means an easy task, was now at least possible.

Constructive Bridging

Constructive bridging involves juxtapositioning metaconstructive levels.


As another expression of the novelizing process, the client must lay
remembrances alongside introspection, introspection alongside reflec-
tion, reflection alongside the sociality with the therapist, and thus weave
stories between the metaconstructive levels that cohere and communi-
cate a self. Constructive bridging helps the client to provide narrative
segues from past to present and from present to past. The client be-
gins to sketch new lines on the mirrors, on the barbers chair, and
around the room (Sewell, 1997, p. 229). The more sketching the client
allows himself or herself to do (i.e., the more of an artistic or creative
stance he or she adopts), the more he or she can allow the therapist to
216 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

be a coauthor in this now internalized process of reconstruction. To


sketch on the mirror and have it fit brings the realization that the
image was only a sketch in the first place (Sewell, 1997, p. 229).
Darla was verbally and physically assaulted by a delivery man in
her home. Prior to writing out and verbalizing with her therapist her
experience of the trauma, she blamed herself for letting the assailant
into her home and for not stopping his behavior. Initially, Darlas sense
of her own survival efforts and the sequence in which the trauma
occurred were confused and vague. The therapist repeatedly expressed
overt caring for Darla and insisted that her survival was the most
important consequence of the senseless attack. After writing and talk-
ing about the trauma, then reading her own writing and processing
her previous accounts of the trauma with the therapist, Darla remem-
bered many ways that she had acted to protect herself. Darla was
aided in providing narrative links between seemingly inscrutable as-
pects of her experience: apparently meaningless behaviors on her part,
the attack itself, and her survival being highly prized by a caring and
empathic therapist. Thus, she was able to reconstrue herself as an ac-
tive agent in ensuring her safety, rather than as an ineffective and
powerless victim. Following these sessions, Darla reported increased
feelings of safety and self-efficacy, while still acknowledging her po-
tential vulnerability in the face of someone elses violent behavior.

Intentional Future Metaconstruction

Often, traumatized clients have no clear sense of the future. With others,
the future is seen as presenting only more trauma. Extending the cocrea-
tive process of constructive bridging, intentional future metaconstruc-
tion involves sketching possible futures onto the front mirror images.
These coconstructed possible futures can be discussed, written
about, and experimented with by enacting them in therapy (via role-
play techniques) as well as out in the world (via fixed role and other
homework techniques). All these experiences serve to elaborate a
narrative of the future self: novelizing the future chapters, implicit to
explicit. Thus, the client is helped to construct a future self, try it on,
evaluate the fit, then continue the creative process until the future
metaconstruction seems subjectively continuous with other meta-
constructive levels.
Later in therapy, Gary felt that his depression had lifted and that
he had resolved several traumatic incidents from his past, including
the early sexual abuse. As termination of therapy was discussed, Gary
became anxious and admitted that he did not know how to be; he
Broken Narratives 217

was not sure how to project himself into a future unburdened by self-
blame and fear. Further, Gary was unsure of a future that did not
include the therapist. Subsequent sessions were spent literally rewrit-
ing Garys future. He and his therapist would write out a variety of
conceivable challenges, victories, and defeats. Then Gary would be
asked to write and talk about how he might react to these situations;
additional alternative reactions would then be explored in session. As
Gary became more comfortable with these new anticipations of his
world (in other words, as he practiced the art of flexible metacon-
struction), he came to view his future as possessing possibilities. By
coconstructing his future with the valued therapist, Gary came to see
his therapist as an important internalized part of himself and of his
futureeven after the termination of therapy.

More Constructive Bridging

As intentional future metaconstruction is explored in therapy, new


ground for constructive bridging becomes available. These iterative
processes continue until the trauma is storied within the clients grand
narrative as an important but integrated component of the overall story
one that has influenced but has not single-handedly determined the
clients life.

CONCLUSIONS

It is our hope that therapists can use the constructivist model of post-
traumatic psychotherapy to assist persons in pain. For many therapists,
this model might seem foreign, daunting, and challenging. For others, it
might be viewed as a mere redescription of their current practices
albeit couched in a constructivist/narrative terminological frame. For
the former, we encourage you to experiment bravely with these con-
cepts and approaches. We believe that our own experimentation with
these tools has yielded not only improved clients, but therapists (selves)
more capable of entering the frightening social construction of a trau-
matized human being. For the latter therapists, we challenge you to test
the fit of a narrative metaphor. Much like learning to speak a new
language, novel metaphors can open even the most familiar of terrain
to creative reconstruction. Either way, we propose that conceptualizing
and enacting posttraumatic psychotherapy from this viewpoint will
serve to broaden the technical and theoretical repertoire of therapists
who share our goal of comforting the hurting client.
218 K. W. Sewell and A. M. Williams

REFERENCES

Kelly, G. A. (1955/1991). The psychology of personal constructs, 2 vols. New York: Norton.
Reprinted by Routledge, London.
Mair, M. (1988). Psychology as story telling. International Journal of Personal Construct
Psychology, 1, 135.
Mair, M. (1989). Kelly, Bannister, and a story telling psychology. International Journal
of Personal Construct Psychology, 2, 114.
Mair, M. (1990). Telling psychological tales. International Journal of Personal Construct
Psychology, 3, 121135.
Mead, G. H. (1934). Mind, self, and society: From the standpoint of a social behaviorist.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Meichenbaum, D. (1994). A clinical handbook/practical therapist manual for assessing and
treating adults with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Waterloo, Ontario, Canada:
Institute Press.
Neimeyer, R. A. (1995). Client-generated narratives in psychotherapy. In M. J. Mahoney
& R. A. Neimeyer (Eds.), Constructivism in psychotherapy (pp. 231246). Washing-
ton, DC: American Psychological Association.
Sarbin, T. R. (1986). The narrative as a root metaphor for psychology. In T. R. Sarbin
(Ed.), Narrative psychology: The storied nature of human conduct. New York: Praeger.
Sewell, K. W. (1997). Posttraumatic stress: Towards a constructivist model of psycho-
therapy. In G. J. Neimeyer and R. A. Neimeyer (Eds.), Advances in personal construct
psychology, Vol. 4 (pp. 207235). Greenwich, CT: JAI Press.
Sewell, K. W. (1998). Embodiment, sexuality, and self-understanding: Constructivist
elaborations of theatrical acting. Constructivism in the Human Sciences, 3, 5669.
Sewell, K. W., & Williams, A. M. (2001). Construing stress: A constructivist therapeu-
tic approach to posttraumatic stress reactions. In R.A. Neimeyer (Ed.), Meaning
reconstruction and the experience of loss (pp. 293310). Washington, DC: American
Psychological Association.
Shurtleff, M. (1978). Audition: Everything an actor needs to know to get the part. New
York: Walker & Company.
Stewart, J. (1995). Reconstruction of the self: Life-span-oriented group psychotherapy.
Journal of Constructivist Psychology, 8, 129148.
White, M., & Epston, D. (1990). Narrative means to therapeutic ends. New York: Norton.
Wortham, S. (1999). The heterogeneously distributed self. Journal of Constructivist
Psychology, 12, 151170.

You might also like